


One Foot in Front of the Other

by RavensRedShadow



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Heavy Angst, M/M, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-12-18 11:17:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11873238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavensRedShadow/pseuds/RavensRedShadow
Summary: "Matt convinces Frank to retire and live with him instead of killing himself like he always planned when he could no longer be the Punisher"Written for an Anon prompt on daredevil kinkmeme.





	One Foot in Front of the Other

**Author's Note:**

> Saw this prompt and thought I'd take a stab at it. I've been wanting to write a Daredevil/Punisher fic for a while now. Didn't mean to start out on such a low note...but I couldn't help myself. I've been in kind of a weird place lately and this fic was like therapy almost.
> 
> Don't know that I did this prompt justice but I thought I'd go ahead and post anyways. Please let me know what you think in the comments.

Frank had spent plenty of time thinking about how he was going to die.

When he’d first woken up and realized what had happened to his family he made himself a promise. That he’d wipe out every last fucker who’d had a hand in their death or die trying.

And on the off chance, he survived all of it, that he’d save one last bullet for himself.

It was almost calming, having an end in mind. It steadied his hand, quietened his mind from the madness, the despair, he felt always lurking at the edge.

He became the Punisher and one by one put down his enemies like the rabid animals they were. But every time he put one in the ground two more seemed to spring up in their place. So the end seemed further and further off.

There were a few close calls over the years, some lucky shots, but he never quite made it there.

Old age crept on slowly. It was easy to lose track of the years when all he thought about was his next mission but soon it was unavoidable. His knees started to ache and his knuckles grew stiff. Sometimes he’d wake up and just lay there convinced he could feel his teeth slowly rotting in his head.

Maybe he was going fucking batshit insane in his old age too.

It's one of those nights after another mission gone wrong. He lays there in bed staring at the ceiling, just feeling the dull throb in his leg. It's at least fractured he's sure of that much.

It hadn't healed properly the last time and now - well it's not like he can go to the hospital.

If he can't walk, he can't fight, and if he can't fight - 

He sits up, reaches into the bedside table and takes out his gun. He holds in his hands for a moment – just feeling the weight of it.

He’d spent most of his life with a gun in his hand – he always knew he’d die that way too.

“Frank,” the voice is startling but familiar, Frank doesn’t look up, “what are you doing?”

“Not now Red,” Frank grunts out, “not now.”

“Frank, what are you doing?” The voice repeats and Frank closes his eyes.

Of course, Red would find him like this. He always seemed to be in the wrong place at the right time.

“It’s time Red,” Frank finally says, “it’s time to go.”

“Go where?” Red’s voice is soft.

“Home.” He says simply, opening his eyes to look at the gun.

 _Home is where the heart is_ , Maria had once said.

His heart might as well have been buried with her and his babies. He’d done fine without it for so long but now – his chest is starting to ache too.

God, he misses them.

“Frank, don’t do this.” Red pleads moving forward, his hands outstretched.

“I’m tired Red,” Frank rasps, turning the gun over and over in his hands, “I’m so goddamn tired of it all. The bullshit, the fighting, the endlessness of it.”

“You think I’m not tired,” Red’s voice is near hysterics, “that I haven’t been there too?”

And Frank knows he has, knows it better than most. But Red’s always been a man of faith, of conviction, and Frank – well he’s never had much faith in anything.

“I thought I could do it, Red. But they’re all gone now – dead and buried and rotted in the ground. And I can’t do this anymore. Not without them.”

“You’re a fighter, Frank.” And Red’s voice is almost pleading now, “you can fight this.”

“No, I’m soldier Red,” Frank says, looking up at him finally, “and that’s different, see. I was always good at it – following orders. The killing, it never bothered me. It was just one foot in front of the other. Easy. But what happens when I can’t do that anymore?"

“You keep putting one foot in front of the other,” Red’s voice has the same fire as his eyes, “you always have. Don’t give up on me Frank. Not you.”

“I promised myself that when all this was over – I’d die like I was supposed to that day. With a bullet in the head like – like they did. And now – I think I’m done Red. I think I’m done.”

He goes to raise the gun, put it against the scar that’s still there on his head like a goddamn target when Red grabs his wrist tight.

“You should leave Red,” Frank grunts, straining against the other man’s surprisingly strong grip, “you shouldn’t be here for this.”

“No, goddamn it, if you’re going to shoot yourself in the head Frank, you’re going to have to do it with me standing right here.”

“You think I won’t?” Frank yells. Damn Red – damn him and his stubbornness.

“I think you won’t make me bury the person I love the most in this world. Don’t make me do that Frank. Please, don’t make me.”

It’s like a slap in the face and Frank stills. Red’s unseeing eyes are fierce but filled with unshed tears.

And Frank really looks at him. The pretty boy he met all those years ago is still there but the furrows of time and worry have made the lines on his face deeper. He has his own share of scars and his brown hair is streaked with gray. He’s an old man now too.

They are different people – very different. But also, enough of the same that over the years they kept finding each other. Both stubborn and passionate and angry to their very core.

If Frank was feeling sentimental he might remember the softer nights between the constant red of the blood – when the red was flushed skin and bitten lips.

“Matt,” he reaches up with his free hand to touch Red’s face.

His pinky finger doesn’t bend right anymore and the tip of his middle finger is gone. It looks ugly and wrong – his old gnarled hand against the softer skin of Red’s face – but the other man doesn’t seem to care. He leans into it and closes his eyes.

“All these years, we’ve made a good team, haven’t we?” Red’s voice is barely more than a whisper as the tears streamed down his face.

“Suppose we did,” Frank snorts humorlessly, “when we were on the same team.”

“I’m on your side, Frank. Always have been.”

“I know Red, I know.”

“Then let me help you. This doesn’t have to be the end. Just stay – a little while longer. I’m not asking for forever. I know you can’t give it to me right now. I’m just asking for tomorrow.”

“Just tomorrow?” Frank asks, a sad half-smile on his face.

“We’ll take it one day at a time. Just – please.” His voice breaks and it snaps something in Frank too.

Frank looks at him, really looks and the more he does the more he realizes that maybe he doesn’t want today to be the last time he sees his face. Maybe it’s not time to go just yet.

“Ok,” Frank says handing Red the gun, “ok.”

Red gives a soft smile before pressing a shaky kiss to the corner of his lips.

“One day at a time.” Matt’s voice is barely more than a breath across Frank’s lips but he hears the words loud and clear all the same.

And they leave the gun on the bed and walk out together. One foot in front of the other.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are golden. Thanks for reading!


End file.
